


shots and then we'll lose control

by limned



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Party, F/M, Truth Serum, feel the love in the room from the floor to the ceiling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limned/pseuds/limned
Summary: It doesn’t become obvious for a while due to the natural trajectory of workplace Christmas parties everywhere: alcohol and lowered inhibitions in the company of people you don’t normally drink with.





	shots and then we'll lose control

In retrospect, Natasha should have monitored Thor’s movements from the second he landed at the tower.

She isn’t sure if subtlety is a thing that even exists in Asgard, but if it does, Thor has never picked up a shred, and he would’ve been completely incapable of secretly spiking the Christmas punch if anyone had paid the slightest bit of attention. The opposite really: most likely he would’ve happily narrated the bonding effects of the special holiday mead at the top of his lungs, and Natasha could have dumped the whole bowl down the bar sink before anyone got near it.

.

It doesn’t become obvious for a while due to the natural trajectory of workplace Christmas parties everywhere: alcohol and lowered inhibitions in the company of people you don’t normally drink with. Natasha has used that dynamic on several missions to pry out significant intel or lure targets off to be killed, which is a startlingly easy task during the holidays. She doesn’t mention that very often. People tend to think it’s dark.

The first indicators are slight enough that she doesn’t notice them. Well – she notices, but not beyond thinking that it’s a little early in the evening for this kind of stuff.

She’s touching up her makeup in the bathroom when Jane walks in and says blankly, “Helen Cho just told Thor that she’s had a crush on him for a year.”

Natasha isn’t usually surprised by much, but this makes her blink: she’d honestly expected that Helen would go to her grave before openly admitting that to anyone. “She did?”

“I was standing _right there._ Helen said hello, nice to meet you, I admire your work, Thor asked if she was well, and she came out with _that_. Then she turned bright red and ran away. Does she usually act like that?”

“Ah, no,” Natasha says. 

“I didn’t think so,” Jane says, and frowns at the mirror before disappearing into a stall, though she keeps talking through the door. “You’re very nice and reassuring for an assassin. I didn’t expect that when Thor told me about you. God, this is already the weirdest Christmas party I’ve ever been to, and I used to live in New Mexico. Sorry if I’m babbling.”

“It’s okay, you’re not,” Natasha calls back with automatic ladies-room politeness, and makes herself stop grinning so she can reapply her lipstick.

The second sign is when she’s behind the bar with Clint, mixing proper cocktails because Tony doesn’t like having staff on the private floors and neither of them can stand watching people make drinks incorrectly. Real bartending is something she’s always enjoyed, the precision and the chemistry and the way it controls the room, and she smiles at Steve when he comes over to request a sidecar. “Can’t get drunk off them, but I always liked the taste,” he says, watching her twist out the fresh lemon.

“With Tony’s most expensive cognac, if you approve,” Natasha says very seriously, just to hear him laugh. “How are you? Enjoying the holidays?”

“I get sad at Christmas. I think about my mom a lot,” Steve says like a reflex, and then he looks startled. “Wow, I didn’t mean to say that.”

He looks so genuinely confused that Natasha reaches to squeeze his hand before passing over his drink. “Steve, don’t worry. Lots of people feel that way.”

He nods but still looks uncomfortable, and drains his glass quickly.

The third thing happens when Pepper asks Clint for a martini. “Oh, you should get one from Nat. She makes them better than I do,” he says.

Natasha stops in the middle of pouring another sidecar for Steve. “ _What_ was that, Barton?” she asks, half delighted and half bemused, because the martini is a rivalry between them going back at least six years and he’s never given an inch before. They once had an argument in front of a Peruvian drug lord while they were undercover. “Say it again, I didn’t quite hear you.”

Clint is frowning down at the bar. “Well you do, but I wasn’t going to tell you,” he mutters. “What the hell.”

She wants to laugh, but he looks so disgruntled that she doesn’t. It’s odd; she always suspected that he liked her martini better, but the competition was the more important part.

The fourth indicator is the most alarming and undeniable, because as far as she knows, Tony doesn’t have either a death wish or the desire to be single again.

“Natasha, your breasts look especially fantastic in that dress,” he says, cheerfully and at full volume, before heavy silence falls and a strange expression comes over his face.

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper snaps, her voice going high and livid, and it’s a close contest for who looks more horrified, Pepper or Steve or Tony himself.

“He’s right. They do,” Steve says abruptly. And now the contest is over, because his eyes go huge and appalled as everyone turns to stare at him instead. “Oh my god, I don’t know why I said that! Natasha, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—“

“Stop,” Natasha says, raising her voice in command tones to make it carry down to the lounge area. This is beyond Christmas party shenanigans and veering hard into inexplicable weirdness. “Something’s going on. Too many people are saying things that they don’t want to say.”

“I know why,” Jane calls loudly, and they all turn to find her dragging Thor across the room with one hand twisted in his jacket. She pulls him to a stop next to the bar and aims a finger up at his face. “Tell them what you did, mister.”

.

“I only meant for the celebration to go well,” Thor says sadly, after he’s told them about the Asgardian liqueur he added to the Christmas punch bowl, how it enhances the bonds between warriors by opening their hearts to each other. He keeps shooting plaintive glances at Jane. “I did not anticipate its heightened effect on Midgardians.”

“I love you, you’re built like a brick shithouse and you’re amazing in bed, but sometimes you are a gigantic moron,” Jane says through her teeth. “Jesus _christ_ , listen to me. I’m going to kill you. Or I won’t because I can’t even punch you without hurting my hand, but this is so fucking embarrassing. You are in _so much trouble_ , you asshole.”

Natasha would have more sympathy for Thor if she wasn’t currently surrounded by a bunch of highly uncomfortable people who look terrified about opening their mouths. Darcy is the only one who doesn’t seem bothered by any of it. She’d started laughing at the end of Thor’s confession and told Sam, “For future reference, I would’ve said that to you without the drug.”

A quick survey had determined that only Natasha and Pepper and Bruce hadn’t drunk any of the punch. “Okay,” Natasha says grimly. “As one of the sober people, I declare that we’re on lockdown. We don’t need this group wandering around Manhattan on truth serum. Tony, rooms for everyone?”

“Sure,” Tony says. “Plenty of them. Bruce doesn’t use his because he’s been sleeping with me and Pepper since last year, so that one is open too.”

Bruce makes a choked groaning sound and buries his face in his hands.

The penthouse starts to clear out pretty quickly after that. Jane hauls Thor into the elevator and they can hear her yelling for a remarkable amount of time after the doors close, and Tony gets hustled off by Pepper and Bruce before he can start talking again.

Natasha turns to find Clint edging his way around her to escape the bar area. She doesn’t think she can handle it right now if he says something as unforgettable as Tony and Steve; she’s already thinking about never wearing this dress again, or designating it only for honeypot missions that need to finish quickly. “I don’t think we should talk _at all_ until this wears off,” she tells him flatly.

“Hell yes,” Clint agrees immediately. She has an instant to feel relieved before his eyes widen in panic, and there isn’t enough time to put her hand over his mouth before he says, “I don’t want to talk about how long I’ve been in love with you.”

It would be another deafening silence if Maria wasn’t stifling a laugh at the end of the bar.

They turn in unison to glare at her. Maria wipes her expression carefully neutral. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get out of this room without hitting on Darcy or telling Captain America how fine his ass looks in those trousers,” she announces, and walks away quickly. Natasha has to give her credit: she keeps her composure so well that it’s almost like she admitted both of those things on purpose.

When Natasha turns to glare at him, Clint looks like he doesn’t know whether to run or brace himself for a punch. He’s standing so close and staring at her and yes, fuck, he really did say that. He did.

“No,” she snaps, when it looks like he might be about to open his mouth again. “Get out, Clint. Go to your room and stay there. I’m not talking to you right now. You even look like you’re going to say something else, I’ll recalibrate you again. Don’t try me.”

He doesn’t; he’s away for the nearest stairwell so fast that he almost trips into the doorway.

Natasha stays behind long enough to dispose of the rest of the drugged Christmas punch. Then she digs out the Iordanov that Tony had probably hidden from her just to be difficult. The Swarovski crystals decorating the bottle are definite overkill but the vodka goes down smooth and cool when she does two fast shots. “Merry fucking Christmas,” she mutters to the silent penthouse, and takes the bottle back to her room.

.

She knows Clint as well as she knows anything, so she’s ready when he tries to avoid her in the morning. Half a bottle of insanely expensive booze isn’t nearly enough to dull her interception skills or her ability to wake up at five-thirty before JARVIS releases the lockdown.

“Good morning,” she says from the alcove outside his door and watches him twitch slightly at her voice.

“Morning,” he says, and sighs. “Thought you’d probably be here.”

“Yes. Get back inside.”

He does it without arguing. She thinks this is a record: twice in less than twelve hours he’s done exactly what she told him to do. She could get used to this.

Clint doesn’t want to look at her. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on a chair, sits down on his couch, clears his throat, and he’s studying his hands very intently. “Nat, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said—“

“Who makes the best martini, you or me?”

Natasha watches his shoulders go tense and then relax; he gets it, she’s checking for integrity. “I do, of course,” he says. “You go too heavy on the vermouth. You always have.”

“Good,” she says, and crosses the room and leans down to push his shoulders against the back of the couch, moving slow enough so he can realize what she’s doing, easing down and settling her knee beside his hip, and Clint draws in a sharp breath and looks up at her. “You had to wait until you were drugged to say something, did you?”

“Guess so,” he mumbles. He’s staring up at her like he doesn’t really get what’s happening, even though she’s halfway to straddling his lap and two inches away from kissing him.

“Dammit, Clint, we were doing so well with pretending,” she says, low and suddenly furious.

“You think?” His hands are tentative, but after a few seconds he’s touching her, light on her waist, palms grazing against her ribs. “I think maybe we weren’t.”

Natasha spent most of the night being pissed off, frustrated beyond belief, and the vodka didn’t help at all. It wasn’t his fault but now she knows how he feels beyond any doubt. They’ve been yanked out of the quiet safe space of denial and they can’t go back.

“Maybe,” she says reluctantly, and then she’s pressing down tight against him, sliding her fingers to curl around his neck and kissing him and he's leaning up to meet her, and maybe Thor didn’t do such a bad thing after all.


End file.
